


When Life Gives You Lemons

by tacotheshark



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Beach Sex, M/M, Modern AU, Public Sex, as you know, it's v unsanitary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-29
Updated: 2013-03-29
Packaged: 2017-12-06 20:21:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/739724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tacotheshark/pseuds/tacotheshark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the Kink Meme: <b><a href="http://makinghugospin.livejournal.com/11823.html?thread=3959855#t3959855">Outdoor sex if amazing if you shut up, Joly!</a></b><br/>"Joly and one of the amis of your choice make out and have sex on the beach/pool; but as much as Joly likes it, he is complaining about the the germs and bacteria they could catch during outdoor sex."</p><p>Courfeyrac seduces Joly on a beach, and Joly complains about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Life Gives You Lemons

The heat of the sun reflected, balmy, off the surface of the sand, blisteringly hot against the bottoms of feet, calm in its warmth when the cool tide came up to plaster down the powdery ground. Summer takes and gives all it can, now as the heat made tired and the sun made tan the fairly sized group of boys-but-just-barely-men who had come to reign this secluded, empty bit of a public beach, just for the afternoon.

The student lounging in a beach chair, still wearing a t-shirt and holding a water bottle that had shamelessly been emptied and filled with something other than water, laughed heartily when the one he’d been watching all afternoon was dunked under the water by a pair of huge hands that seemingly came out of nowhere. This shark in the water, who terrorized his friends one by one, laughed much more harshly when his prey came up sputtering, golden hair thoroughly mussed and plastered to his face and neck, “ _Bahorel!_ ”

Joly chuckled softly and relaxed into the arms of his lover, who’d surely have been out there doing the same if he hadn’t been so preoccupied. Courfeyrac leaned against a large cluster of rocks, and Joly leaned into Courfeyrac. Courfeyrac called out with a cheeky grin, “Grantaire! Are you going to let your beloved be treated like that?”

“Hey,” Grantaire said, “Fuck you,” and the matter was settled.

Courfeyrac whispered, “Hey,” breath tickling the shell of Joly’s ear, “Look at Marius.,” and Joly only slumped back further, his back pressed stark against Courfeyrac’s front, Courfeyrac’s arms wrapped loosely around his waist, thoroughly enjoying the feeling of being so close, of so much skin pressed against so much skin in nothing but swim trunks, warmed by the sun and by nerves and by the precious, pumping blood of another.

“I know you have a crush on Marius,” Joly sighed, a tiny smile playing at the corners of his lips as he turned so that his nose brushed against Courfeyrac’s jaw. “You don’t have to rub it in.”

“I don’t have a crush on Marius,” Courfeyrac insisted, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of Joly’s nose. “I have a crush on _you._ ” The feel of Courfeyrac’s lips lingered; Joly’s nose felt warmer than the rest of him by far. “I was going to say he looks like an idiot, and he’ll look even more so when he wakes up and finds those ridiculous glasses have left a white stripe across his face.

Courfeyrac was right; Marius was fast asleep, laid across a towel in the sand, tanning comfortably but for the large, blocky sunglasses perched atop his nose. Joly chortled and looked around at the rest of their friends, some lost in their own little worlds, some intent on disturbing those little worlds of others.

Grantaire still looked after Enjolras with his usual drunken wonder, and Enjolras relaxed as best he could, alternating between floating on his back and standing, stoic, to let the light waves lap softly at his chest. He spoke with Feuilly , who migrated between the ocean and the picnic blanket Jehan and Combeferre had set up so that they could eat and read in peace. Bossuet was trying to get the salt water, fault of Bahorel, out of his phone.

Snacks, books, and other paraphernalia of bored and frisky college students were littered about the beach—a shirt here, a forgotten Subway sandwich there, a pair of broken headphones tossed aside with an empty bag of chips. Courfeyrac had a bag of Lay’s, resting beside his thigh against the short wall of rock, along with a store-bought bottle of lemonade that he sipped occasionally.

“Lemonade?” He offered, the half-full bottle glinting, almost translucent in the sun, as he held it in front of Joly’s face.

Joly tipped his head back against Courfeyrac’s bare shoulder. “It’s unsanitary.”

Courfeyrac scoffed, pressing his lips lightly to the side of Joly’s face. “Ah, you pretend you’re not intimately familiar with my mouth already. No need to be so coy, my dear.” He spoke against Joly’s skin, probably with the intent to bother him, but Joly took little notice.

“Oh, but it isn’t the same,” sighed Joly, tipping his face into Courfeyrac’s touch.

“Of course it’s the same,” Courfeyrac said, but he didn’t press further, though he did mutter softly, “ _You paranoid asshole,_ ” as he maneuvered his neck to give Joly a quick, chaste peck on the lips. Joly slipped his eyes shut and reciprocated contentedly, chasing Courfeyrac’s lips when he pulled gently away. “I suppose we’ll just have to make due, then,” he said, a sly grin finding its way onto his lips.

Joly blinked slowly, a soft blush coloring his cheeks. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, Joly!” Courfeyrac’s sudden cheerful exclamation startled Joly, who shivered slightly against Courfeyrac’s skin. “Sweet, rosy Joly!” Courfeyrac took Joly’s face in gentle hands, pressing an obnoxious, open-mouthed kiss to Joly’s cheek. Joly melted into the touch, watching him with wide eyes and a tiny, expectant grin. “Oh, a moment, love,” Courfeyrac said, much more quietly, as he reached for the lemonade, unscrewed the cap, and raised the rim of the bottle to his lips. Just when Joly had really begun to wonder what he was doing, Courfeyrac gulped, set the bottle back down, and pressed his open mouth to Joly’s again, tangling one hand in the back of Joly’s hair and setting the other on Joly’s hip.

The sourness of the lemon tingled on Joly’s lips, a thin veil over the invariable sweetness of not only the sugar but the sweet, sweeping pull of Courfeyrac’s lips and tongue. As Courfeyrac pulled Joly atop him and moved Joly to straddle his lap, Joly collected with his tongue the remnants of sugar left inside Courfeyrac’s mouth. Courfeyrac’s hands moved to the back of Joly’s neck, and to the small of his back, pulling him close, until they were pressed flush against one another. “Courfeyrac,” Joly mumbled, pulling away slightly but not enough to disconnect their lips. “Everyone will see.”

“You’re right,” Courfeyrac said, but all he did was slide his hands more sensuously over Joly’s skin. Joly, who didn’t care much either, only went with it, kissing Courfeyrac again, nibbling lightly at his lips. “Hey, okay, come here,” Courfeyrac said finally, pulling Joly with him as he scooted around the rocks, letting Joly collapse on top of him one hidden from the view of their friends. Courfeyrac held Joly by his waist, pressing his mouth up and into Joly’s greedily. When Courfeyrac’s head tipped forward, Joly’s head tipped up and back, and he lost balance quickly, splayed against Courfeyrac. When Joly flailed for purchase atop Courfeyrac’s chest, Courfeyrac flipped them over, pinning Joly down with his hands and unrelenting mouth, straddling Joly’s hips. The sand was hot on Joly’s back as he writhed between Courfeyrac and it, Courfeyrac’s taste on his lips, Courfeyrac’s hands all over him. He arched his back when Courfeyrac’s hands slid, searching and savoring, across his stomach, and around to the small of his back.

Joly groaned lightly, purring almost, when Courfeyrac’s fingertips pressed into the dip of the small of his back, and Courfeyrac swung one of his legs over so that he just straddled one of Joly’s. Joly’s other leg came up at the knee, rubbing against Courfeyrac’s hip and catching on his swim trunks. The leg of Joly’s shorts slid down to expose his thigh, and Courfeyrac sighed into Joly’s mouth catching sight of it.

Joly jumped in surprise when Courfeyrac slid one hand into the back of his shorts, barely allowing himself to enjoy the feeling before he twisted his hand back and removed it. Courfeyrac touched his waist, then, no momentum lost, as he moved his mouth to Joly’s neck and he whispered, “My darling, your beauty could launch a thousand ships, there is no need to be modest.”

“I’m not being modest,” Joly said, placing his hands on Courfeyrac’s chest. “I’m being cautious.”

“You’re nervous,” Courfeyrac mumbled, between hungry, open-mouthed kisses to Joly’s neck, each one impossibly warm, the feeling interminable as Joly tipped his head back to accommodate it. “There’s no need for that.”

“Courfeyrac”—as Joly spoke, his throat vibrated, and he could feel it ricochet back to him against Courfeyrac’s mouth—“Do you have any idea how unsanitary it is here?”

Courfeyrac stilled, and if his prime concern hadn’t been his health, Joly surely would have worried he’d said something wrong.

“Oh, no,” Courfeyrac muttered, shaking his head, a sad smile spreading across his face which Joly found somewhat offensive. “Not this,” he said, kissing up Joly’s neck. “Not now,” and he brushed his lips across Joly’s jaw, leaving a light trail of tingling nerves. “ _Oh, Joly._ ” His voice was filled with pity, but it was soft and filled with love; Joly shuddered lightly as he rested his hands upon Courfeyrac’s shoulders.

“Well,” he said, “I apologize for caring about my own well-being.”

“Love, I care about your well-being better than anyone, and I can assure you, you have nothing to worry about.”

“You don’t know anything.”

“You know too much,” Courfeyrac said, as he ran his hands down Joly’s sides to grasp his hips.

Joly arched up into the touch, guilt sparking in his head as something else began to spark in his thighs. “I’m a doctor.”

Courfeyrac said, “You’re a hypochondriac.”

“I don’t appreciate that.”

“But you are,” Courfeyrac teased, cupping Joly’s face and tipping his chin up to kiss him. The press of his lips was soft, gentle. “I love you, but you are.” When Courfeyrac kissed him again, Joly didn’t have the energy of the reserve to try to protest. One of Courfeyrac’s hands came up again to tangle in Joly’s hair; the other hitched up his knee, his legs apart, his body listless. Splayed out on the beach, inviting and twitchy, with Courfeyrac between his thighs, Joly thought of the sand, of all the bacteria within it, and he thought of Courfeyrac, pressed flush against him now, and of Courfeyrac’s growing erection, obvious against Joly’s thigh, pressing shamelessly out against his thin, loose shorts. As Joly moved to meet Courfeyrac’s hardness with his own budding arousal, his shoulders shifted, and the hot, suffocating sand was smeared across the backs of his upper arms.

“Courfeyrac…”

“You’re fine.”

Joly slipped his eyes shut, Courfeyrac’s open mouth sliding against his own, and hearing it from Courfeyrac he almost believed it.

The sand was hot but Courfeyrac was hotter, and his body drew Joly in like a moth to a light. Joly pressed up into him, and away from the sandy depths of God-knows-what, his shoulders immovably tense.

Courfeyrac’s hand slid from Joly’s knee to his thigh, slowly but determinedly, and eventually it slipped underneath his shorts from the bottom. Joly buried his face in Courfeyrac’s neck as Courfeyrac began again to kiss his neck, setting Joly’s nerves alight with everyone wet, eager brush of his lips and tongue. He grabbed Joly’s ass in the most obscene of ways, which had Joly almost crying out, though he relaxed slowly into the touch as Courfeyrac nibbled at the space between his neck and shoulder and lightly massaged the uppermost skin of his inner thighs.

Joly rolled his hips, moaning softly, fully hard now and just as obvious. Small groans and unintelligible mumbles bubbled up out from his lips at the blazing touch of Courfeyrac’s hands, of Courfeyrac’s body, of Courfeyrac’s cock, hard and pressing as he took Joly apart through his clothes.

“Oh, Joly!” Courfeyrac said more than once, against Joly’s mouth or his neck or his clavicle, in mutters and in whimpers and with sheer, utter joyousness, joyousness at what must be the sight, the feeling, of Joly so willing, so debauched and with such a possibility of being caught. Joly imagined Courfeyrac found pleasure as well in his being so exposed to the harmful bacteria of the beach. Because, he told himself, Courfeyrac was evil. Courfeyrac was terrible and evil and intent on giving Joly an infection. Joly was sure of all this, in that moment, and yet he loved Courfeyrac all the same.

“Joly, sweet Joly,” Courfeyrac breathed, lemonade-cooled breath ghosting softly across Joly’s lips and skin. “Show me, won’t you, how much you want me?”

From Joly’s throat buzzed a soft sound that began as a hum of objection before dissolving into a contented moan under the lustful, achingly longing gaze of Courfeyrac, whose deep brown eyes were a cosmic force all in their own. “You’ll be the death of me Courfeyrac, my absolute death;” Joly’s hands fell from Courfeyrac’s hips to his own, and Courfeyrac, still leaning over him, exhaled hotly as he raked his eyes over Joly’s body. Joly’s nerves sparked at the touch of his own hands, hipbones shifting to meet fingertips through ever so slightly pudgy flesh, warmed by Joly’s own touch, by Courfeyrac’s gaze, and by the impossible thrill, the danger, of being exposed not only to a potential, far-away public, but to the constant dangers of the bacteria-infested world that Joly, regrettably, lived in.

Joly slipped his thumbs under the waistband of his shorts, and when he slid them over his hipbones, it sent ripples throughout his whole lower body. His shorts were bunched up near his pelvis, their waistband pulled slightly down so that the slightest bit of hair could be seen; he wondered how much Courfeyrac could see already. Slowly, with a languid, shuddering breath, Joly slid his shorts down around his thighs, over his cock which twitched as it was enveloped by the encompassing palpability of the hot air.

“I am… very aroused right now,” Joly said, chuckling nervously as his aching hardness became not only a feeling but an all-encompassing inevitability. “And it’s all your fault, and we shouldn’t be doing this, but, I’m afraid I can’t resist.”

Courfeyrac dropped his head where it was, to nuzzle into Joly’s neck and to mouth at his collarbone. “You’re so lovely, Joly.” He slid his hand down Joly’s chest and stomach, splaying his fingers over Joly’s erection before taking him loosely in hand. Joly’s breath stuttered at the touch; his hips writhed on their own accord as Courfeyrac stroked him calmly, indulgently.

“It’s all your fault, you utter pervert. If I catch something out here it’s— _Oh,_ God— _it’s all your fault._ ”

“Sure, sure,” Courfeyrac sighed with a small chuckle against Joly’s lips as he kissed Joly’s mouth again and jerked him steadily. His lips, warm and sweet, may almost have been enough to physically draw the worry from Joly’s body. If it were so, Joly felt he’d look back on that kiss with regret. To lose his medical “intuition”, he felt, was to lose his means of survival. Yet, his anxiety was intact and he was completely aware, stuck between something beautiful and something disastrous. Though, perhaps Courfeyrac was just as treacherous as a disease could be. Love was always such.

Joly’s awareness was heightened a hundredfold by the thought of germs on his back, of bacteria penetrating his skin. The excessive attention he paid to just that amplified the clarity of everything else, and each time Courfeyrac touched his skin it felt like a star imploded inside him and was born again.

Joly, one hand splayed across Courfeyrac’s back to feel his muscles move beneath his skin and the other resting on his own thigh so as not to touch the breach, was racked with a breathy, whimpering moan when Courfeyrac pressed his own clothed groin against Joly’s exposed hardness. The drag of the scratchy fabric was almost as inviting as what protruded from beneath it, rubbing a slight wet patch into its front. Courfeyrac’s lips were parted as he took himself in hand, inside his points, pumping himself slowly as he kissed Joly’s cheeks, again and again. When he finally pulled himself out and pressed his erection into Joly’s, Joly could feel his tip grow slightly wetter as Courfeyrac dragged against him so sweetly agonizingly.

Courfeyrac took them both in hand, then, and Joly was torn between rutting into the hand that pleasured him and the cock that tantalized him. He moved restlessly against Courfeyrac, and he muttered shakily, “I’m going to die out here. I wasn’t kidding.”

Courfeyrac pressed a soft kiss near Joly’s ear, the movement of his hand growing slower, steadier, as he established a comfortable rhythm. “I’d never let that happen.”

“Yes you would,” Joly breathed, his own nervousness making him laugh. “You’re risking my life right now just to get your hands on my cock.”

Courfeyrac chuckled softly. “Have a little more faith in me, my love,” he said, as he moves his lips from Joly’s jaw to his neck, nibbling lightly at his skin and punctuating it with a sharp, twisting stroke to the both of them. Joly gasped, and Courfeyrac slid down his body tantalizingly, trailing kisses down his skin, in the soft indent between his pectorals, down to his belly button and lower still. As he moved he took Joly’s shorts with him, pulling them down his thighs, over his knees, and off his body completely. Joly was naked, naked and wanting and anxious, and his worry was just as sharp as his arousal.

Courfeyrac let go of his own cock, but he touched Joly still. His thumb rubbed lightly against Joly’s balls, which had Joly spreading his legs further while Courfeyrac settled between them.

The first graze of Courfeyrac’s mouth against Joly’s reddened cock had him shaking. The muscles of his back were drawn taut and tense, and all his energy was spent in the general anxiousness of one who fears for his health. Courfeyrac noticed this, as he laved Joly’s hardness with the moisture of his own mouth and drew more moisture from Joly’s twitching arousal, and he rubbed the insides of Joly’s thighs soothingly, licking at his cock rhythmically. Sloppily, but without doubt. And slowly, Joly relaxed into the threat of the sand, cringing as his shoulders settled fully onto its hot, powdery surface, but exhaling softly as his body unwound. “There you go,” Courfeyrac muttered, into the inside of Joly’s thigh. “There, you’ve got it.” Joly’s thighs were less tense, now, and Courfeyrac was able to move them above his shoulders, mouthing at the skin between Joly’s balls and his thigh. Joly groaned, and gasped, and enjoyed, and fretted. Courfeyrac’s hair tickled Joly’s lower stomach as he trailed kisses up Joly’s length. And Joly leaked slowly, spurting with a soft groan as Courfeyrac pinched the head of his cock between his lips. The drag of wet lips on his cock was not an entirely new sensation to Joly, and yet it never ceased to shock him.

Courfeyrac took him in slowly, the flat of his tongue pressing against Joly’s underside, his lips pursed hot and tight around Joly’s pulsing, reddened shaft. Joly was utterly transfixed. “Oh, God,” he muttered, “your mouth should be illegal.”

Courfeyrac groaned, the vibration of his throat reverberating throughout Joly’s cock and hips. A moan was torn from Joly’s throat, as a bullet through flesh; it sent Joly reeling, but he recovered quickly.

“I should… I should have you arrested for premeditated murder.” Joly’s voice was weak, and his mouth was listless. Any threat he made was negated by the debauched coloring of his cheeks, or by the soft, high-pitched noises that fell from his lips as his cock slid in and out of Courfeyrac’s mouth, hard and glistening.

Courfeyrac’s mouth was full, and so he said nothing, which only heightened Joly’s worry. Courfeyrac sucked on him lightly, and his hips jolted, nerves sparkling as a high, breathy moan emerged from his throat.

“Was that your plan all along?” Joly said, his voice racked every few moments with spontaneous sparks of laughter and well-earned groans of pleasure. “To get me ill so that you could sleep with other people?”

This time, when Courfeyrac sucked, it was sharp and slightly painful, and Joly’s head fell back with a wordless sound of protest.

“I wouldn’t object, you know. So long as it meant I could keep my health.” Joly’s voice fell when Courfeyrac pulled off of him, the air now cool against his slippery, unrelenting arousal. Courfeyrac’s hands were flat against his thighs, and Courfeyrac glared up at him with the utmost exasperation.

“ _Joly, I swear to God._ ”

Joly, his cock neglected and aching and begging already to be touched again, swallowed his indignation in a fidgety gulp. He watched, anxiously, as Courfeyrac took him in hand again. Courfeyrac resumed, stretching his lips over the tip of Joly’s cock and suckling lightly, dragging his lips and tongue wetly over the hot, pulsing flesh.

Tentatively, Joly brought a hand to Courfeyrac’s hair, tangling his fingers loosely in the man’s black curls, pausing every second to see if he would object. He groaned, agreeably, and the vibrations sent shocks through Joly’s body again. Joly tightened his fingers, Courfeyrac moving with Joly’s pull. And Joly moved his hips, slowly at first, infatuated with the sight of his cock slipping in and out of Courfeyrac’s reddened, glistening lips. Saliva gathered in Joly’s mouth, but his breath was too erratic and the vibration of his moans was too constant to let him swallow. Instead, he tipped his head back, only closing his eyes to blink, thrusting at his own will into the sweet cavern of Courfeyrac’s mouth. Courfeyrac followed, loosening his throat, tightening his lips and letting Joly’s cock push them apart.

Joly could feel his climax building but it didn’t fail to startle him; with a jumpy cry of “Oh!” he released into Courfeyrac’s mouth, and as the force of arousal drained from his body, so did much of his worry. His eyelids grew heavy, his head grew dazed. Courfeyrac let Joly hold him in place, milking him with the work of his jaw until the very end, only climbing back up Joly’s body when he was sure Joly had nothing left to give him.

Joly’s worry had faded somewhat but, limbs buzzing, he barely wasted a moment before sitting up and asking Courfeyrac to _please get the same off of his back, he doesn’t want to risk it._ And so Courfeyrac leaned back against the rocks again, and Joly leaned back against Courfeyrac again. They still were hidden from plain view.

Joly fumbled with his shorts, only able to fully relax when he got them back on properly. When he settled into Courfeyrac again, he felt the soft flesh of Courfeyrac’s arms wrapping around him again, and slight sheen of sweat that had begun to glisten on Courfeyrac’s skin, but most of all he felt Courfeyrac’s arousal, pressing against his back, large and thick and only worrying to someone like Joly. “Oh! Courfeyrac! Oh, I’m so sorry,” he sputtered, twisting around, reaching down to grasp Courfeyrac’s hardness but being caught by Courfeyrac’s gentle but firm hand. “Would you like me to”—he was cut off by Courfeyrac’s kiss, and he settled into that instead.

“I’d rather you relax,” Courfeyrac muttered as he pulled away from Joly’s lips. “I’ve clearly put you through great trials today.” He brushed sand from Joly’s shoulder experimentally, grinning when Joly responded positively, the tendons of the area loosening visibly. “I’ll take care of myself, hmm?”

“Are you sure?” Joly asked, one hand now on Courfeyrac’s hip, the other in his own lap.

“I’m positive.” Courfeyrac pressed a kiss to Joly’s cheekbone and pulled him close, trapping him and giving him no choice but to rest. Joly was secretly thankful for it, as his limbs ached and his head buzzed. He leaned into Courfeyrac languidly. “I can take care of you a bit more, too,” Courfeyrac said as he swept his thumb over the nape of Joly’s neck, swiping away a few stray particles of sand.

Joly felt as if he was floating, suspended in a sort of calm, tranquil and heavenly mid-air, as Courfeyrac brushed the earth from his shoulder-blades contentedly. Courfeyrac did this with one hand, and he had the other shoved inside his own shorts as he breathed heavily against Joly’s shoulder. His free hand traveled and wandered, mostly across Joly’s back, as if mapping out his light freckles or finding fascinating constellations in the dimples of his lower back. Joly could feel Courfeyrac’s knuckles against his back, through the fabric of Courfeyrac’s shorts as he worked at his own cock.

Soon Joly felt a hot, damp press against the small of his back, and when he leaned back further, Courfeyrac’s breath stuttered. Courfeyrac stroked himself against Joly’s skin, moving against him, savoring as he breathed through his teeth the feel of Joly’s skin against him.

“Courfeyrac,” Joly mumbled, “I’m covered in sand.”

Courfeyrac groaned. “Hmm?”

“You’ll catch something. That’s disgusting.” But Joly didn’t want him to stop, in truth.

“Oh, so that’s what you think of me?” Courfeyrac’s expression of aching pleasure was disturbed by the beginnings of a cheeky grin, which faded quickly as he spurted against Joly’s back, jerking himself quickly, eyes slipping shut in the most natural ecstasy.

“Not you,” Joly whispered, as he turned his head into Courfeyrac’s neck and breathed in his scent, his presence. He reached down to rub the head of Courfeyrac’s cock lightly, helping him finish. “Just the ways your insatiable horniness will end up killing one of us, someday. Truth be told,” Joly teased, “I’d rather it be you than me.”

“My darling, I’ll tell you a truth as well,” Courfeyrac said, grinning, stretching his neck so to press a kiss to Joly’s hair. “So would I.”

Joly’s sharp intake of breath was audible, and he muffled it by pressing his face into Courfeyrac’s shoulder. He blinked, and he could feel the slow drag of his own eyelashes against Courfeyrac’s skin. He fell asleep, there, the world blurring and compressing into something wholly Courfeyrac, nothing more and nothing less. It was perfection, to Joly.

When he woke, hours later, Courfeyrac was groggy against him. Marius was looking at his reflection frantically in his phone’s front camera, Feuilly had fallen asleep with Bahorel on a beach towel, and Grantaire was wearing headphones and idly cleaning the sand off of Enjolras’ sandals.

Joly’s lips grazed Courfeyrac’s neck, and half-asleep and mocking a preacher, Courfeyrac cried out quietly, “Oh, sweet Joly has blessed me with another day!”


End file.
